Letters In the Sand
by Elisabeth
Summary: Carly writes letters after fleeing Port Charles...and gets answers, in more ways than one.
1. Prologue

**Letters In The Sand  
**  
Prologue  
_November 15, 2003_  
  
Hello baby girl,   
  
Welcome to this world, my girl. Happy birthday. You're lying here beside me, six hours old this very minute, and God, you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen -- wrinkled head, red face and all. I held you the second you were born, swear. So hard, baby, and I promised I was never gonna let go. I just, I wanted you to know that.   
  
You're laying here beside me right now, your little head nestled against my side like you know me. Like you believe I'll protect you and love you, always and always. Like you know I'd walk through fire to keep you safe. I'd give anything -- everything -- to make sure you know that forever.   
  
There's a tiny place on the back of your head I can't stop running my fingers over. Your hair does this little curly-q thing; your brother's did that too, when he was a baby. Only I missed my chance with him, to trace it, learn it with my fingers. That's a long story and one you don't get til later, if ever. All you need to know is you've got your brother's hair. You've got your daddy's eyes.   
  
Damn. I didn't mean to write that. This letter wasn't supposed to be about your daddy. Or maybe it is. Maybe that's the only thing it bcan/b be about. I don't want to write that letter. I don't know how to write that letter.   
  
But maybe that's the letter you deserve to have, on your birthday.   
  
Cause I'm never gonna lie to you, baby girl. I'm never gonna hide behind what someone else tells me you should know or be. I'm never gonna hide anything from you, period. And, I'm never gonna teach you to hide either. That, I promise. That, I swear. So, I'm not gonna hide who your daddy was, what he was. Or how hard he loved you. Or why he isn't here to tell all that himself. I'm going to tell you the truth, and I'm gonna tell you all of it. But, to do that, I have to go back to the beginning.  
  
Back six months ago when I knocked on your Uncle Jason's door in the rain.   
  
It wasn't the first time I'd been there, pregnant, wet, on Jason's doorstep. That's your brother's story, though, not yours. And, it doesn't matter now. All you've gotta know is that he opened the door and let us in. He always does.   
  
Jason looked at me, that night, holding Michael in my arms and shivering with something that wasn't cold. What happened. It wasn't a question.   
  
I shifted Michael to my other shoulder, and his arms wound even more tightly around my neck. He made a small noise in his sleep, and I pressed my lips against his neck. You gonna help me, Jase?  
  
He just looked at me, then opened the door wider. You gotta ask?  
  
I didn't. I never did, not with Jason. We walked in, the three of us. You inside of me, Michael in my arms -- we walked in. I'm never gonna stop being sorry for that til the day I die. I'm never not gonna think it was the smartest thing I ever did, either. Sometimes in life, baby girl, you gotta make choices. No one ever promised any of em were gonna be ones you could actually live with. I looked at Jason as he shut the door behind us and just said it. I have to leave town now, tonight. Will you take me?  
  
He stared at me a long moment with those blue eyes I've never been able to read, not all the way. Still without speaking, he reached out towards me and started to take Michael from my arms. My arms tightened around my son, and Jason looked at me. Carly. I'm gonna put him in my room so we can talk. That's all.  
  
Slowly, I let go of Michael. Watched him every second til Jason disappeared up the stairs then sank down on the couch. He wasn't gone long.   
  
What happened to Michael's arm? Jason sat beside me.  
  
Sonny. Sonny Corinthos happened. I could feel the scream building up in the back of my throat, and I choked it down, hard. For your sake, for your brother's, for mine. I had to do this without going crazy. I pressed my palms against my stomach, felt you under my fingertips. That gave me strength, baby girl. First gift of many. And, it's not gonna happen again, not ever. So, I'll ask you one more time, Jase. You gonna help me or not?  
  
Jase held out a hand and grasped my arm, not ungently. Carly, wait. Looking at him, I could see his eyes harden; I could watch him turn into the killer that was, still, the biggest part of who he was. You telling me that Sonny put that cut on his arm?  
  
Yes. No. Sort of. I took a breath and tried to make it come out iclear/i. Michael had a tantrum; he put his hand through a picture frame. He thought that was an okay way to express his anger cause he'd seen Sonny do it. My son has five stitches in his arm because my husband taught him that that was okay!  
  
Jason shook his head. Carly, I don't get how this means you have to leave town. Sonny gets mad, he breaks stuff. He shrugged. What does that have to do with--  
  
Turning, I desperately grasped at his shoulders. I overbalanced turning so quickly, and Jase reached out, holding me steady. He was always really good at that. I never let of him; I made him face me. Jase, listen to me. You remember that day I stayed with Sonny when he destroyed the penthouse? You remember how scared I was, how dark and sad Sonny was? Jason nodded, slowly. I reached up, rested my palm against his cheek. Do you want Michael to grow up to be that? Do you want that for our son? You use the weapons you have to when you're fighting for what matters most.   
  
  
  
No, Jason! No. I dropped my hands and sat back, hard. My son put his hand through a glass picture frame. iHe put his hand through a glass picture frame/i. Not two days ago, he was on the ground, covered by my body while a car bomb exploded in front of his eyes. And, I stood there in the hospital and made excuses for the life that we lead and for the man I chose to father my children, and it was like something was breaking all around me. Like this glass bowl I've been livin' in shattered, and all I could feel was this black fear. For my child. For my, I touched you again, children. I love him more than I ever knew I could love anyone, and I have to leave him. I have to leave him now before I forget why it matters so much. Jason. This is the last time I'm gonna ask. I looked at him. Will. You. Help. Me?  
  
He looked at me back.   
  
Yes. That was all, but from your Uncle Jason, baby, that's more than most people mean when they promise you the entire world. We left town that night, your brother, you, me and Jase. Jason brought us here to this little town by the sea; he stayed and helped find us the house that's gonna be your home; he made sure we were safe. We were, we bare/b, we three. Safe and strong together. And he kissed us once and went home to his life. But, it was too late by then. Far, far, far too late.   
  
See, we were gone and Jason was gone and your daddy-- Oh, baby girl, I loved him, love him, more than I know words to tell you. But, there's a big part of me that hopes that all you got from Sonny is your eyes. Sonny had this way of focusing on a thing so that it was all he could see. No matter what was actually in front of him, Sonny saw what he wanted he see. Or, what he didn't, which I guess is the point. He saw what he believed was real, and he made it that way.   
  
I don't know what he convinced himself of this time. It doesn't really matter. We were gone, both of us, and Jason and I are the only people alive who I've ever known could make him see clear, even for a little while. But, then, I guess we were the reason he wasn't, this time.   
  
He died, baby. God, that looks so harsh, but I don't know how else to write it. He got himself into a bad, dark place, and there was an argument and a gun and a man named Ric, and he died. Your daddy with the darkest eyes I've ever known breathed his last breath, and I wasn't there to hear it. i...in sickness and health.../i  
  
This wasn't the letter I meant to write. I wanted to wish you happy birthday and tell you how loved you are, how wanted. I should have known better. I never met a plan I couldn't screw up.  
  
I'm gonna stop writing now. I'm gonna fold this letter and put it far, far away til you're old enough to read it. 18, 25, never. Then, I'm gonna hold you until you wake up. Oh, baby girl, I'm gonna want to hold you forever.   
  
Happy birthday, gorgeous. Welcome home. Welcome here. I love you -- Mama  



	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**   
  
_February 21, 2004 _  
Dear Jase,   
  
Ha-ha, very funny. No, I'm not gonna call my daughter That Kid' for the rest of her life. Look, I didn't get to name my son, okay? I wanted to get it right with my baby girl. So it took me a while, so what? Three months isn't that long. I think I finally came up with just the right calling card to give her.   
  
Grace Corinthos Benson.   
  
What d'ya think? Since both Michael and I are going by Benson these days, I figured that was right. But, I wanted her to have something of her father's. I'll be smart about it, Jase, I promise. She'll go by Grace C. Benson; I won't take any risks with her, don't worry.   
  
Grace, that part just seemed like...like a way to give her something I never had. I've never walked through this world with a whole lot of grace, have I? I want my baby to step lightly when she walks; I figured if I can't teach it to her, I'd better give her all the heads up I can. Does that make any sense? Do you get what I mean? Bet you do, even though I'm _sure_ you're sitting there shaking your head like I'm crazy. You always get what I mean when it matters.   
  
So, she'll be baptized next Sunday. I know you can't make it up or anything, but I figured if you were in church about the same time, you could be thinking of us then. Me and Michael'll think of you too, and it'll be like you're there. Or, you know, close as we can get.  
  
Michael's been talking about you a lot recently. It's weird; he almost never talks about Sonny. His shrink says he's still not ready, that he'll ask questions when he's ready to hear the answers. You don't ask, you don't get'. Learned that one in Ferncliff -- guess Michael's not ready to get, yet. But, you, Jase, you've been on his mind all the freaking time lately.   
  
Like, we were down at the beach a few days ago, and he comes running up with a conch shell. He held it up to my ear. Listen, Mommy, you can hear the ocean!  
  
I laughed, pointed out that with or without the conch, we could hear the ocean, and tickled him til he collapsed.   
  
Later that night, I went in to tuck him in. He had that shell with him, and after his story, he wanted to snuggle for an extra long time. I thought he was asleep when he finally spoke up. He held the conch to his ear again. Can I hear Port Charles in my shell?  
  
It was like a punch in the gut, Jase. I mean, nine months, you know? I keep hoping he'll forget, even though I know better. I don't know, baby, I said, finally. What do you think?  
  
He held it up to his ear a long time, his forehead wrinkled in concentration. I think I can hear Uncle Jason. I think he's riding his motorcycle. Michael took the shell down then and looked at me. Uncle Jason loves me. Up to the sky and around the world.   
  
That he does, baby, I whispered, glad it was dark so my son couldn't see the tears in my eyes. Within minutes he was breathing heavy, fingers still wrapped around that damn shell.   
  
I didn't know he remembered that. So much for forgetting, huh? Not that I want Michael to forget you, Jase, not really. It's just -- I don't want my kid to always be searching for something that got left behind. I lived that; it's a thing I don't wanna pass on to my son.   
  
I don't know, maybe he's looking for a daddy. I mean, he is my kid, right? And, you're a safer choice than Sonny or AJ. Or maybe he's just looking for a man in his life; between me, Grace, and Meghan, Michael's pretty much surrounded by women. Seems like no matter how hard or how far I run, I'm gonna find some way to screw up my kid. Oh well. Wouldn't be a Spencer if I didn't.   
  
God. Did I just call myself one of _them_? Forget I wrote it; tear this letter up into little teeny, tiny bits and swallow the pieces. I mean it, Jase, you better.  
  
Speaking of, though, could you tell Bobbie to quit nagging at me? If you see her or something. She keeps writing me these long letters with these really heavy messages about not wallowing in guilt and getting on with my life. All of which really mean come back home' which she knows damn well I'm not gonna do. I'm just so tired of arguing with her, and if you say something, maybe she'll listen, finally.   
  
Since we're on the subject of lives and moving on with them -- you better be doing all of the above. I'm not gonna say anything about Courtney cause you know what I think there. But, even if you're not with her, doesn't mean you've gotta shut off the way you do. You better not be sleeping on that damn couch and eating cold pizza every meal. I'm not gonna walk in your life and wake you up this time, Jase. I'm trying like hell to keep myself breathing; I can't be that for you again. You've gotta do it on your own.   
  
I don't think you should leave Port Charles, either. You wrote me that you were thinking about taking off again and traveling. I know I don't get to talk about that; I ran, after all. I don't care. I'm gonna say it anyways: stay. If you leave, Sonny's gonna chase you everywhere you go. You'll carry him with you, I know you will. I know **you**. Remember the last time you went? Did you ever leave any of us behind, really? No matter how far you run, there you are. Believe me, I learned this one the hard way. You didn't kill him, Jason. It's not your fault. Stay, and make that keep being true. If you run, it never will be.   
  
Besides, if I ever do come home, I need someone to come home to. See? Screw everything I said above -- selfish motives. Typical Carly, right?  
  
I better go; Grace's gonna be getting hungry soon. I'm gonna kiss her twice, once for me and once for her Uncle Jason. Michael, too. I love you. Stay safe -- Carly  



	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**  
  
_March 2, 2004_  
Dear Carly,   
  
Alright, alright, daughter mine. Siccing Jason on me wasn't necessary; your message has come through loud and clear. No more lectures, okay?  
  
Jason walked into Kelly's this morning -- not an unusual thing in and of itself -- and stormed over to me. Well, as much as Jason can storm. It was more like walking with intent purpose. Anyway, he made a beeline for me.   
  
Carly doesn't need to fight anymore. With anyone, he announced, abruptly. She'll come home when she's ready. Nothing you say's gonna make that come quicker, and it's mostly just makin' her sad. She doesn't need to be that anymore either.  
  
Now, mind you, this was all before my second cup of coffee. I poured myself one and poured one for him for good measure. I waited until I drank it all down, just to make sure what I was feeling wasn't caffeine deprivation.   
  
And, then I let him have it.   
  
I'm not going to tell you what I said, Carly, though heaven knows, Jason probably will. Let's just say it wasn't pretty, it was a long time coming, and let it lie there. I mean, he took you away and had the audacity to come in telling me how I could and could not talk to my own daughter? That did not go over well, baby girl, whatever you had planned.  
  
Jason just sat there until my little explosion lost steam. Thanks for the coffee, he said and stood up. She'll be okay, Bobbie. You don't have to worry. Then, the boy walked out. Can you believe that? Oh, I bet you can; you know him better than anyone.   
  
Well, I tell you something, I was pretty steamed for most of the morning. Then, I sat down to write to you and realized maybe he was right. You've got enough to handle without having to argue with your mother over a decision I know was hell for you to make. So, I'm not going to stop believing you'll come home, but I will stop being an old fussbudget about it. _If_ you promise to guarantee Jason doesn't pay me any more visits before nine a.m. Deal?  
  
Since your life is off-limits, let me tell you about the mess my other child has gotten himself into. Carly, Lucas has become a teenager with a vengeance! I wish you were around; somehow I've got the feeling you know a thing or two about rebellious teens.   
  
Your brother has been spending all his time lately with Felicia's girls, Maxie and Georgie. Which was one thing when they were children, but is quite another now that they're all becoming teenagers together, hormones on overdrive and all. Felicia is a close friend and I love her dearly, but I just do not understand how she is leaving these girls alone to raise themselves. Maxie, especially, needs her desperately; that girl is just doing about everything she can to get _someone's_ attention. And, Lucas is the one listening.   
  
It's not that I think anything untoward would actually happen; they are cousins, after all. I just don't like the look in Maxie's eyes, these days. And, Lucas doesn't hear a word, only tells me I don't get it', that Maxie needs' him, and then he follows her from mess to mess, cleaning up as he goes. I'm worried that one of these days, she's going to lead him into a mess way too big for my sixteen year old child to clean up. I really wish Felicia would get her rear end back here!  
  
I tried to talk to Luke about Lucas, but he's off playing Whack-A-Bat' with Stefan again. I thought all that nonsense had settled down this Christmas when Nikolas Cassadine married Emily Quartermaine; I mean, yes, the wedding was complete chaos, but Luke actually sent the two of them a wedding gift that didn't explode OR tick. And he even said marrying Emily was the first smart thing Nikolas ever did. It seemed like a step forward. But, then Laura had a relapse after she seemed to be getting somewhat better, and Luke's dealing with that by attacking Stefan any and every chance he gets. Between my son and my brother, these Spencer males are driving me absolutely to my wits end.   
  
So, there's Port Charles for you -- chaos as usual. I hope things are calmer in your corner of the world, sweetie. You deserve some peace, though, knowing you, you'd hardly know what to do with it. (That was a joke by the way, Carly). Send me more pictures of my grandchildren. If I can't be with them, then I must have more pictures. Grace gets more and more gorgeous each set I see; the pictures of her christening took my breath away. Kiss her and Michael for me a thousand times and tell them Grandma loves them always and always.   
  
I love you, honey. Be good. -- Mama  
  


*********************  


  
_March 3, 2004_  
Carly,   
  
I saw Bobbie. I told her what you wanted; don't know if she listened. She got real loud so I don't know how much she was hearing. Mostly she just misses you and is scared cause she doesn't want to have to keep doing that. If I need to talk to her again, tell me.  
  
Tell Michael When Michael was little, I always knew what he needed. If he was cold or if he was hungry or if he was lonely. Then, I gave him up, and I had to stop. I couldn't know Michael in the same way, know what he needed and not be able to give it to him. It hurt too much both ways, and I didn't want to be a thing he had to miss. I hate that no matter what choices I made, I still have am.   
  
If Michael needs me, I'll come. If you need me, I'll come. You know where to find me; I'm not leaving Port Charles. --Jason  
  
PS. Grace is a good name. It's right for your kid. -- J  
  


*********************  


  
Subject: Re: Meet Grace C. Benson!  
Date: Fri, 5 March 2004 12:35:59 -0700 (PDT)  
From: Courtney Matthews c_matthe@mail.pcu.edu  
To: QueenC@msn.com  
  
Okay, my niece is *officially* the World's Cutest Baby! I've already got the one of her in her christening dress printed out and framed.   
  
Now that I've buttered you up, I might as well go ahead and tell you -- I did something you're not going to like. I didn't plan it, but I have a feeling that's not going to matter much.   
  
So, I printed out all the pictures you sent and was showing them around at work. It was a slow day; Penny and I spread them out on the counter, trying to pick the best one of Grace to frame. The door opened to Kelly's just as I had them all laid out and -- of course cause I'm the world's biggest klutz -- they all got swept onto the floor.   
  
I'm crawling around on my hands and knees at this point when someone sticks his hand in my face, one of the kids' pictures dangling from his fingertips. I didn't even look up, just said, and reached out to take it from him. When he didn't let go, *then* I looked at him.   
  
It was AJ.   
  
I haven't seen him in months. I don't know if he just doesn't come into Kelly's anymore, or if he snooped around and got my schedule, but he doesn't come in when I'm working. The last time I saw him was right after you left, when I was still living with Jason. Did I tell you about that? I didn't know where you were, then; I didn't even know you'd left. Don't ask me how AJ did. He stormed in, looking for Jason, and demanded to know where you'd taken his son. I thought he was just being his typical paranoid self, yelled at him, and kicked him out of my apartment. I never thought in a million years he was right.   
  
Anyway. I hadn't seen him since then, so it was kind of a shock to be staring at him, crouched on my hands and knees. Can I just blame that for what happened next?   
  
When AJ spoke, squatted down in front of me in the middle of Kelly's, he didn't look up. He looks happy, AJ said, staring at the picture. It was the one of Michael laughing on the beach, covered head to toe in sand like he'd been rolling in it. My son looks happy, doesn't he?  
  
He is happy, I said and reached out for the picture. He still wouldn't let go of it.   
  
He's my son, Courtney. And, I haven't seen him in almost a year. Let me just look at it a minute longer.  
  
I guess it was just that for the first time since we broke up, he wasn't sniping at me or accusing me of anything or even at all focused on me. It threw me. I stood up, the rest of the pictures clutched to my chest. Look, AJ, just keep it, okay?  
  
He looked up then. Stood up and looked at me, the picture still tight in his fingers. Thank you. Thank you, Courtney. Then he left, just turned around and walked out.   
  
I know, I know, I know. It wasn't the smartest thing I've ever done. But, the picture was just Michael and the beach and a red plastic shovel -- no identifying landmarks or houses. I don't know, Carly. AJ just looked so...I don't know what the word is. Hungry, maybe, when he looked at Michael's picture. The one thing I know about my ex-husband is that he loves Michael, even if he goes about it in totally the wrong way.   
  
Yell at me, now. Go ahead. Send me a blistering email. Just don't stop writing again, okay? I'm late for class; I'll write again soon. Love -- Courtney 


End file.
